A Girl Named Leney


Posts tagged Morning Scenes
A Winter Morning

i reach the end of the shadows and that is when i feel the sun warming my back, reaching me finally, as it had crept higher than the trees.

i feel its heat through the worn wool grey sweater i often wear (admittedly one of the more unflattering pieces in my wardrobe and yet something i've held onto for eight years now. which is a thing i am always fighting—my attachment to material things).

the suns fingers slide down my body, starting at my hair, falling down my back, slipping down my calves and then being kicked off by my heels.

the shush-shush sound of my jeans, my Mothers jeans with various time-worn holes, is the closest sound to me.

next to it the stray rocks my feet kick as they walk, next to that the birds above my head, then the wind playing with the grass and trees, then the distant sound of a truck on an unmarked road and then, further still: a barking dog.

it is these sounds that i've learned to be attentive to, to hear and enjoy and recognize as enough, in lieu of music or words playing into my ears.

it's beautiful to listen to.

the waking-up of the world.

a witnessing of the slow graduation of night into day.

then--a shot of copper.

the fox was one smooth line, as it sped across the road from the cannon of the field. uninterrupted, linear, both in its physique and its destination.

seeing the sun shine on his back as he ran somehow brought more joy than feeling the sun warm my own.

on the left, always on the left, for what is routinely just shy of an hour.

i let my mind wander.

thoughts unrestricted. unkept. unruly.

(words that could also be assigned to my hair)

a sort of inward dialogue with myself.

it's calming, starting my days this way. letting the things my senses bring to my attention pour in and out of me without needing to measure or quantify or justify or dictate or document or list.

to let them.... be.


Pt. 1
It's an often out-of-reach thing—acceptance. 
We're told to have it in many aspects of our lives. Our bodies, our situations, ways and whys and hows in which we cannot always be in control. 
Loving myself, my body, how I was made and who I am, seems to grow harder as I age. Is it because there's more of me to accept? As I gain scars, knowledge, wisdom, insecurities, weight, problems?
Is it because my eyes and ears are opened to how much more there is in the world to influence me? Is it because my resolve has more of a chance of weakening over time?

I'm doing my best to love and accept myself -as I am exactly now- these days.


Pt. 2

I feel most beautiful in the morning. 
I feel as though that's telling of a truth that often escapes me later in the day. 
That who I am, here and now, before the world has a chance to touch me with it's comparisons, lies, judgements, perceptions and fears, is who I am.
My natural state. 
Naturally beautiful, not because my beauty lines up with what society conventionally calls beautiful. But because this is how I was made and that is beautiful. 
I find the most peace with myself and my being in these early hours. I'm untouched and unencumbered by the Pandora's box that is living in this day and age.
I've recognized that about myself over the years and as such try to hold the mornings sacred as they are the time in which I get to dictate how the rest of my day will go. It's the time in which I can look at myself internally and externally, free from outside influence, accept and love what I find and carry that love and acceptance with me into the rest of my day. Into the light. Into the world. For other people to see.

Don't Go Back To Sleep

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.

Don’t go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.

Don’t go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill

where the two worlds touch.

The door is round and open.

Don’t go back to sleep.

— Rumi, from “Quatrains”.